


As Shadows Pass

by elyssblair



Category: Blood Ties
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: smallfandombang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyssblair/pseuds/elyssblair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Vicki moved to Kingston when she left the force. Which means, when a brutal serial killer stalks the city, it's Mike who has to deal with the gorgeous, sarcastic graphic novelist and the hysterical goth girlfriend of one of the victims. Except, nothing and no one in the case is what it seems to be. Not even Mike himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for smallfandombang
> 
> Special thanks to subluxate for the lovely [Fanmix](http://gonerunningaway.dreamwidth.org/17493.html) and to delorita for the beautiful [ Banners](http://delorita.livejournal.com/177158.html).

 

  

_ Autumnal Equinox _

**_ VAMPIRE KILLER STALKS CITY _ **

Henry glared at the headline as he walked out of his building. 

Damn reporters and their sensationalism. And damn the sheep that are so easily swayed.

Despite his frustration, a finger of conscience poked at him for snarling at Greg. He'd overreacted and he knew it. The doorman had only been making small talk. It was just so exasperating. This was the twenty-first century. People weren't even supposed to believe in that kind of thing anymore.

Even if vampires _did_ walk among them.

His fingers tightened on the paper, twisting it into a ball before tossing it in the nearest trash can.

Humans did enough violence to one another, why did they always have to look to the supernatural first when they encountered evidence of evil?

Still, two unrelated victims rumored to be completely drained of blood. If there was a possibility that another vampire had invaded his territory without him noticing, Henry was going to have deal with it sooner rather than later. He might as well start looking, now. 

By the time he found the neighborhood where the second attack had happened, Henry had calmed down again. He really did owe the doorman an apology when he got back. Maybe he'd pick up some bagels on the way home as a peace offering. The smell of blood wrapped around him, pulled him inexorably toward the side street. Other scents thickened in the air when he drew closer. Burnt matches.  Spoiled food. It made him want to gag, even as the scent of blood had him fighting against letting his teeth descend.

A few rust-brown drops littering the sidewalk were all that marked the spot where the body had been found. A scant amount considering the gruesome murder. Henry wondered if there was more to the reporter's wild speculations than he'd wanted to believe. 

A dark shadow on the wall drew him closer and he felt a chill when the seemingly random lines resolved into a deliberate design. 

He touched the sigil with shaking fingers, wanting to deny it. Wanting it to be different. But it was the same. The precise, stylized pentagram.

Over a century had passed, yet the memories wrapped him up in a haze of fear and revulsion. 

_ O'Mara's pompous voice intoning an evil incantation. Hands holding him, pinning him, twisting painfully in his hair as he fought to stop them. The dank, musty smell of the gloomy basement. The scent of excitement from the idle nobility playing at Gothic games. The smell of sulfur choking him. _

Sulfur. Burnt matches… It couldn't be.

Instead of letting himself think about that night, or the possibility that it could happen again, Henry followed the scent of blood further down the block, to a little alcove hidden in the shadows.

"Hey, you!" 

The shout tugged him out of his thoughts and he turned. The man's suit was off-the-rack and his shoes were well-worn. The rumpled clothes and hard-edged posture screamed _cop_ to Henry's well-honed instincts and the glint of a metallic badge on his belt confirmed it. But handsome face and tired curiosity made Henry hesitate a second too long when he could have disappeared behind the van rumbled down the street between them.

Instead, he stood his ground and waited for the man to make his way across the street.

The closer the cop got, the better looking he got. Sandy hair. Blue eyes that roamed the area like a predator, no doubt catching much more than the average human. Square jaw and just the hint of dimples.  Tall, broad shouldered and tough. 

It had been a while since the warrior-type had attracted Henry, but maybe it was time try to something different. 

Then the cop opened his mouth and ruined it.

"What are you doing at my crime scene, kid?"

Forcing himself not to bristle at the condescending tone, Henry straightened his shoulders and let the vampire surface. His vision took on the bright-edge view that meant others would see nothing but blackness in his eyes. When he spoke, his words were deep and dripping with the persuasive power of his kind.

"You didn't see me. No one was here."

For a second, the cop stared at him. Then the corner of his mouth quirked up and the promised dimples deepened.

"Nice try, kid. But that trick only ever works in Star Wars movies."

For a second, Henry could only blink in surprise. It had been a long, long time since he'd met anyone strong willed enough to ignore the Voice.

This shouldn't be intriguing. It was downright dangerous. This man was investigating something that hit a little too close to home and he couldn't be controlled. It should be terrifying. It shouldn't cause thrilling little jolts to rocket through Henry or make him want to move closer. 

He should walk away. 

Instead he smiled, tilted his head up and gave his best challenging smirk.

#

Mike couldn't help smiling at the kid's audaciousness, but he tried hard to keep the threatening laugh contained to a half-smile. 

He looked down at the teenager, whose unwavering look of daring made Mike want to push the boundaries. Instead, he forced himself to shift backwards and put a little more space between them. 

The kid was cute and quick and way too young for Mike. He _might_ be legal. Barely. Even if his pale blue eyes did hold that jaded, weary look of someone who'd seen too much.  Mike might have mistaken him for a street rat, but the jeans were definitely designer and the wool pea coat probably cost more than Mike's last paycheck. He forced himself to ignore the compact, lithe body underneath the expensive threads and focused on the situation.

He didn't have the time or patience for some entitled adolescent whose idea of a good time was slumming it at a crime scene.

With narrowed eyes and a thin lipped smile, Mike held out his hand, palm up. "Let's try this again. Show me some identification, kid."

The guy really didn't like to be referred to that way. His face went flat and anger sparked around the edges of his frown, but he dug out a wallet and slapped the plastic rectangle into Mike's hand.

He gave it a cursory look, memorizing the name and address out of habit. His eyes slid over the birth date and stopped. He did the math in his head. Twice.

Then he lifted the card a little closer, checking for all the tell-tale signs. Either it was the best fake he'd ever seen, or it was legitimate.

"Twenty-three?" He couldn't keep the surprise or the doubt out of his voice. "Really?"

The kid… Henry… Fitzroy met his incredulous stare with a smirk.

"I get that a lot.  I've always looked younger than I am. Comes from clean living. I eat right. Don't smoke. Avoid too much sun."

The soft amusement was enticing, like Henry was inviting him to share some private joke.

Instead, Mike pulled back his shoulders and straightened, doing his best to tower and look intimidating. 

"You still haven't told me why you're here."

Fitzroy didn't seem fazed by Mike's posturing at all. He just rolled one shoulder in a careless shrug. 

"I heard it was a crime scene. Thought I'd come check it out."

The casualness of coming to a murder site like it was a tourist attraction made Mike's blood run cold. He was going to have to run this kid when he got back to the station.

Before he could say anything, though, Fitzroy rolled his eyes and shook his head, curls falling into his eyes with the exasperated gesture.

"I'm an artist. Graphic novels. It's grim, I know, but this kind of realism is what I'm known for. Nothing sinister."

"The scenes already been gone over by our forensic team and cleaned up. There's nothing left to see, here. What are you hoping to get out of it?" 

The question came out more curious and interested than the sarcasm he'd intended. Mike was really going to have to be careful. Now that he knew Fitzroy wasn't quite jailbait, the urge to flirt was even stronger.

"Details." 

Fitzroy leaned in and Mike held his breath until he realized the 'artist' was staring past his shoulder.  

Tucking his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching across the few inches that separated them, Mike slowly let his breath out. "What kind of details?"

"Oh, you know. The way the light casts shadows. The way the wind scatters the dirt. The way the blood dries brown in the cracks of the brick."

It was almost a whisper in his ear, and the glimpse of the gruesome scene through the eyes of an artist was almost poetic. Still dark and disturbing, but poetic. Then the meaning of the words caught up to him and Mike jerked around.

"Wait. What blood? Where?"

Fitzroy blinked, like he'd been caught up in the moment, as well. Then he stepped to the side and pointed to a small crack in the brick of the alcove where a few scattered drops of what could be blood shadowed the paint.

"God damn it."

Mike growled, then dug out an evidence bag and his pocket knife to scrape out some of the rust-colored trace.

Fitzroy chuckled and leaned against the edge of the alcove. "Don't tell me your forensic team missed that?"

They had. And the fact that Fitzroy found it without any difficulty grated. Both because his team had dropped the ball and because it meant Mike had dropped his guard a little too quickly.

"Don't laugh, kid. Finding this when they missed it means you just bought yourself a ticket down to the station to answer a few more questions."

The laughter stopped abruptly and a dark glare replaced it. Which made Mike give a chuckle of his own. For the first time since he'd crossed the street, he finally felt like he was on stable ground.

#

Mike's head was throbbing by the time they walked into the station.  The kid had prattled and poked and prodded at him the entire trip there. He didn't quiet down until they walked into processing. Fitzroy studied the hookers and thieves and gangbangers getting fingerprinted or standing for the mug shot or just handcuffed to chairs, waiting their turn. His expression turned serious and thoughtful when they passed through the area.

Good, maybe it was finally getting through to him that this was a serious situation.

As soon as they stepped into the empty hallway and the door closed behind them on the chaos of intake, though, Fitzroy's amused snort grated on Mike's nerves. 

"I'm surprised you didn't put handcuffs on me. You look like the control freak type."

Mike twisted to glare down at the kid strolling behind him. The challenging smile highlighted the sharp cheekbones and sparking blue eyes and Mike bit hard on the inside of his lip to remind himself that it wasn't a good idea to notice.

Fitzroy just shrugged off Mike’s scowl, raised an eyebrow and held out his arms. "I have to say, though, I do look good in handcuffs, Constable."

Mike couldn't stop himself from glancing down at the fine-boned hands. Imagined heavy polished metal trapping the delicate wrists.  Seeing the long, artistic fingers clench and flex in captivity…

Mike growled and sharpened his glare, spitting out the first thing he thought of to distract them both. "It's _detective_. Detective Celluci. And you're not a suspect. Yet. But keep it up, and I'll find something to charge you with."

He turned on his heel and pushed through the door to the detective's bullpen before Fitzroy had a chance to make another smart-ass comment. 

Thankfully, the kid followed him silently to his desk, but Mike could practically feel the smirk directed at his back.

"Hey, Mike, got a minute?" Dave Graham called him from across the room, waving a file to get his attention.

He waved an acknowledgment then turned and pointed at the chair next to his desk.  "Sit there. Don't move."

Fitzroy's smile tightened into a grimace but he dropped into the chair with a graceful sprawl of limbs. 

"Yes, sir!" 

Mike absolutely did not swallow hard or lick his lips when he turned away. At least, not where anyone could see his unwanted and unexpected reaction to the kid.

"What's up, Dave?" He asked when he got closer to where his partner stood.

"Coreen Fennel is here to see you again."

Mike groaned and pressed his hand to his throbbing head.  He'd already spent an hour with the girl. He did feel bad for her. Losing a loved one is never easy. Losing her boyfriend, Ian, like that… he couldn't even imagine. Watching Vicki walk away by her own choice had ripped out his heart, but at least he knew she was alive and safe in Kingston. No matter how many times he worked a homicide, he couldn't comprehend how the families managed to deal with the brutal finality.

"Where is she?"

"I put her in the conference room."

"She still talking about…"

"Vampires? Yeah."

"Great." Mike pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded toward Fitzroy. "Keep an eye on him. Don't let him go anywhere until I talk to him."

"You don't think he's our guy?" Dave glanced over with a frown and Mike chuckled.

"Not unless he's shrunk four inches and lost forty pounds in the past twenty-four hours. Witnesses described a much bigger guy." He pulled the evidence bag out his pocket. "He did point this out at the crime scene, though. I think he knows more than he's letting on."

Mike handed the bag over to Dave. "Get that down to the lab. And run a check on him.  His identification looked legit, but I want to be sure."

Dave nodded then moved toward his desk, already focused on the task at hand. Mike took a deep breath and held it for a second, before letting it out slowly.  

Through the open blinds of the conference room he could see Coreen Fennel picking at the edge of one black lace glove. The powder white makeup she wore did nothing to hide the shadows of strain on her young face and the blood red lipstick only accented the trembling frown. 

Now he had to go in and tell her he had no news for her. Try not to sound condescending when he disregarded her theory of vampires and creatures of the night.

After that, he still had to deal with a smart-ass artist who may or may not know more than he was letting on. One who really shouldn't look as hot as he did leaning back in the chair with one ankle resting on the opposite knee and his hands tucked behind his head. 

Yeah. There wasn't enough aspirin in the world to deal with the headache Mike was going to have before the night was over.

#

Coreen stood up her feet the second the door open.  

"Detective Celluci. Did you find anything? Have you—?"

Through the open door, she caught sight of the guy sprawled in the chair next to the detective's desk and her intuition thrummed.  There was something about him. Something…

"Is that him?" she whispered, looking back at the detective. "Is he the one who killed Ian?"

"He's just a potential witness," Detective Celluci said and pushed the door part-way closed to block her view. "Coreen, I told you I'd call you when I had something I could share with you.  It's only been twelve hours. I don't have anything new to tell you."

A frustrated huff escaped her and she stepped closer. "That's because you're looking in the wrong places. Ian was killed by a walker of the night."

The sympathetic hand on her shoulder and the compassionate softness in Celluci's eyes made her want to scream before he even opened his mouth.

"I understand, Coreen. This kind of thing is hard to accept. Sudden tragedy makes us look for explanations—"

"Don't patronize me." She jerked away from his attempt to comfort her. "They're real. Out there. Walking the night. Looking to slake their unquenchable thirst."

The detective pinched his lips together, and she knew he was trying hard not to smile at her theatrics. But she had to get through to him. There was too much at stake.

So she took a moment and glanced out the conference room window to gather herself for her next argument. The guy at Celluci's desk was no longer sprawled nonchalantly. He was leaning forward, shoulder's stiff as he stared straight at her. She held his gaze for a second, trying to figure the man out, before she turned back to pin the detective with a defiant glare.

"You won't find the killer if you're not looking for what _really_ killed him."

"Coreen, I promise. I will follow every lead, no matter how bizarre. You have to let me do my job."

She bit her lip. She knew he meant it, but couldn't help worrying that he wasn't taking her seriously enough. That he'd get hurt, too, if he disregarded the supernatural possibilities.

Unfortunately, she couldn't force him to see the truth. 

"Fine. But promise you'll be careful, too."

This time, he didn't try to hide his smile, just made a sign of crossing his heart.

"I promise."

As soon as they stepped out of the conference room, his partner called him away and she waved him off. 

On her way to the door, Coreen made sure her path took her by the guy once again relaxing in the metal chair and stopped in front of him.

He just arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow at her until she crossed her arms and darkened her glare.

"You believe in inhuman things that walk the night, don't you?"

His lips stretched into an expression that could have been a smile or a grimace and tilted his head.

"'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio…'" he quoted and shrugged, without answering her question.

Coreen's frowned deepened and she glanced over at the detective. "He doesn't believe. It could get him killed. Just like Ian. He needs someone to watch out for him."

With a sigh, she turned and headed out the door, praying the nightwalker would be stopped before it could harm any other loved ones.

#

A shiver worked its way down Henry's spine while he watched the black-clad Goth walk away.  Her concern had had a ring of certainty to it that made him wonder if she was one of those mortals blessed and cursed with second sight. 

Whether she was or not, she was right about the danger to the detective. There was definitely something unnatural stalking the night in Toronto. And Detective Michael Celluci had no idea what kind of danger he was in by trying to track this killer.

Henry might be the only one in the city who knew what they were up against. Or how to stop it. 

He glanced over at the detectives, quietly discussing the background check Graham had performed at his partner's request. Celluci's dimples nearly disappeared in the creases of his frustrated frown. Henry wondered how much deeper those lines would get if he realized the 'kid' at his desk could hear every word he was saying. 

Eventually, Celluci pressed his knuckles against his eyes, then stalked across the bullpen toward Henry. He slapped the folder down on the desk and dropped into his chair with a tired sigh.

Henry leaned forward and gave his best innocent smile. "Are you satisfied I am who I say I am?"

"For now," Celluci growled back. 

"Then can I go home?"

The detective slumped a little in his chair before leaning forward to tap a command on the keyboard of his computer. The fight and frustration left him and he hunched a little more. 

"In a few minutes. I just have some routine questions. Where were you last night between ten pm and one am?"

"At home. In bed."

"Alone?"

Henry let the lascivious smile bloom across his mouth and licked his lips. "Oh, no. Definitely not alone."

He didn't elaborate, just tucked his hands behind his head and stretched his legs out.

Celluci rolled his eyes and kept his voice flat. "Her name?"

"Well, now, isn't that presumptuous? We live in a progressive city in enlightened times."

That actually got Henry a flash of… something across the detectives face but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure whether it was interest or disgust.

"Okay, _his_ name?"

"Actually, last night it was a her. Most definitely a her."

They progressed through a half dozen routine questions and Henry watched the detective's every move though it wasn't as much fun to tease when Celluci no longer seemed to have the energy to rise to the bait.

The electric blue eyes had faded and the shadows of stress and exhaustion darkened the lines and hollows of his face. When the detective pushed his fingertips into his temples, Henry realized it he'd seen Celluci make a similar gesture at least a handful of times since they'd entered the bullpen.  The hint of pain in his eyes, and the heaviness in his voice was obvious now that Henry was looking for it.

"All right. That's all I need. If you leave town, though, let me know." Celluci's voice was scratchy when he brought the interview to a close, his eyes already looking down at the folder in front of him and making notes.

Henry should leave. He still needed to feed before dawn chased him home. But the detective's free hand was pressing against the back of his neck and the pain was obviously getting worse.

So, instead of walking out, Henry leaned forward in his chair and propped his elbows on Celluci's desk, palms up.

"Give me your hands."

Startled blue eyes widened under impossibly long lashes and Celluci straightened up in his seat. "Excuse me?"

"You're hurting. You have a headache."

"So?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"So, I know some acupressure that will help with the pain."

"Right."

Henry sighed and glanced around the nearly empty bullpen. The couple of people still at their desks were hunched over their keyboards or files with single-minded focus. 

"Look, no one is around to even notice. A big, strong cop like you can handle me if I try anything funny. If it doesn't work, you're out five minutes. If it does work, you can finish your reports without feeling like someone's driving railroad spikes through your eyes."

Celluci stared at him so long, Henry was ready to shrug and walk away. He had no reason for the sinking barb of disappointment that swept through him. Then the detective sighed and put his hands out tentatively, and Henry fought not to show the ridiculous relief that washed away the disappointment.

Carefully, he pinched the web of skin and muscle between Celluci's thumb and forefinger. As soon as he found the right pressure and the right spot the other man's posture completely changed. His shoulders slid down, his eyes slipped close and his head tilted back. A soft sound escaped him, something between a groan and sigh, that made Henry bite his lip.

Celluci's hands were strong and calloused and the vampire could imagine them on him.  And that decadent sound slipping out from the tightly controlled cop’s mouth sent a shiver of pleasure straight through Henry, making his own body respond. This wasn't the time or the place to think about seducing Detective Mike Celluci, though. 

Soon, very soon, he would have to find that opportunity.

After a minute of constant pressure, he began to stroke tight, precise circles over the pressure point. Another huff a breath from the detective made Henry smile. With Celluci distracted by relief, Henry took the opportunity to peruse the notes on the desk in front of him, doing his best to decipher the upside-down handwriting and find out as much as he could about the murders.

The sound of shouting from the hall had them both jumping, Celluci jerking his hands back and tensing almost immediately. After a second, the noise faded back toward processing, but the moment of harmony was over.

Before the detective could say a word, Henry stood up and smirked.

"Happy to be of service, Constable. I'll let you know if I decide to go on vacation in Tahiti."

He turned and headed for the door, but behind him he could hear Celluci grumbling. "It's detective, damn it."   
  
[Part 2](http://elyssblair.dreamwidth.org/27540.html)   


 


	2. Chapter 2

 

  


The club wasn't exactly the type of place Henry usually hung out. He preferred a little more upscale entertainment, at least in this incarnation. There had been an identity or two where he'd enjoyed slumming but he'd outgrown that. 

Club Nervosa had been one of the details he'd managed to decipher from the detective's notes the night before, though, so Henry braved the generic music and the layers of grime and desperation. He didn't hold out much hope of finding anything worthwhile, but he didn't have much else to go on so it was worth a shot.

When a break in the crowd gave him an uninterrupted view of a tan trench coat and brown hair, he couldn't help the smirk the curled at the edges of his mouth. Looked like Detective Celluci had the same idea. 

Henry paused. As much fun as riling Celluci had been, he wasn't sure he wanted the policeman to know he was interested in the murder case beyond his artist's attention to detail.

But the handsome face turned and bright blue eyes locked onto him, and it was too late to retreat. That fierce gaze didn't waver as Celluci maneuvered through the crowd without jostling or being jostled. For his size, Celluci moved with surprising grace. And he kept moving until he was right up in Henry's space. 

Close enough that Henry could feel his body heat, feel the energy of life thrumming just beneath Celluci skin. So close he could shift a hair's breadth and brush up against hard muscles and warm flesh.

Then Celluci leaned even closer, in an attempt to be heard over the crowd. Of course, Henry could have heard him halfway across the room, but why discourage the delicious closeness when it was offered?

"What are you doing here?" Celluci demanded, ruining the buzz of attraction Henry was riding. 

Tilting his chin up, Henry kept his face thoughtful but didn't bother to hide the amusement in his voice.

"We've been over this. I'm well past the legal age to be in a bar. Doesn't really seem like your kind of crowd, though, Detective." 

Henry let his eyes drift to the bodies writhing on the dance floor, covered in a preponderance of chains and collars, black leather and metal, before slowly dragging his eyes up and down Celluci's body. "Unless you want to take me up on the handcuff offer, after all?"

He couldn't help grinning a little when the detective’s eyes widened and Henry could see the pupils dilate. Could hear the hitch in his breathing and the uptick of his heartbeat. Interesting. Celluci wasn't quite as unaffected by Henry's flirting as he pretended to be.

The urge to touch, anywhere and everywhere, nearly overpowered him then, and he curled his fingers into fist to keep from crossing the last few centimeters. Normally, Henry didn't bother with impulse control but he couldn't ignore the ramifications, this time. Seducing a determined cop on the trail of a 'vampire' killer… that was the kind of trouble Henry didn't need to invite into his life.   

The default scowl quickly dropped back into place, though, and the detective shoulder's squared while he ruthlessly brought his breath back under control. 

"Fitzroy," he growled. Before he could say more, a faint buzz hummed between them and Celluci reached into his coat's inside pocket. He continued to glare at Henry while he pressed the phone to one ear and covered the other with his free hand.

"Celluci." 

As soon as the voice on the other end started talking, the detective frowned and turned away. Henry listened in shamelessly. Long years of practice kept his face neutral when he heard Detective Graham say there'd been another murder.

"Fuck!" Celluci swore, not bothering to hide his own anger and frustration. "When? Where?"

 He hunched a little, curling ever so slightly into himself, like he could protect his body from the blow when it was his heart that was hurting.

Henry wanted to put his arm out, to comfort and support. To commiserate. He felt as helpless and responsible. Like he should have done more. Stopped this already.

But all he could do was stare out disinterestedly at the crowd and pretend he wasn't cataloging the ebb and flow of emotions crossing Celluci's face. Wasn't listening to every word Graham said and memorizing the details.

When the detective hung up with a sigh, he stuffed his phone away, ran a shaking hand through his hair and said, "I have to go."

Henry twisted his lips into a soft smile and finally gave in to the urge to touch. He curled his fingers around a sculpted bicep and leaned in close to whisper, his lips not quite touching Celluci's ear.

"Ah, but we were just starting to have fun. We haven't even danced yet."

He felt the shiver quake through the detectives body, watched the way the man's eyes darted toward two men grinding rhythmically together on the dance floor. Henry had to swallow hard against his own need to press closer. 

Then Celluci jerked away. His lips set in an angry line, but a hint of pink washed across his cheekbones and his breathing was off kilter again.

His voice, though, wasn't angry. It was soft and resigned. A hint of concern may even have wormed through it.

"Look, I don't know what you think you're doing, but this isn't a game. It's dangerous. Stay out of it."

He turned on his heel before Henry could say anything and disappeared out the door.

Henry considered following. Just to be a pain in the ass, of course. Not because of the sudden urge to watch Celluci's back or anything. He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere near the crime scene until the cops cleared out and the danger would be long gone before the detective got there.

Instead, he talked to waiter and a couple of toughs who'd given Ian a hard time. Then he taught them a lesson about being truly bad-ass. 

It was late, or early, depending on one’s frame of reference, when he snuck past the guards at the parking garage crime scene. It didn't take long following the stench of decay to find what he was looking for. Or to get sucked back into the memory again.

_ The crinkle of the grimoire's ancient pages. The scent of blood, heavy and seductive. Straining against hands. Fighting to stop the atrocity being summoned. The cold, oily feel of darkness slithering over his skin. _

The urgency of the swiftly approaching dawn pulled him out of the dark place and sent him fleeing. He reached the safety of his apartment building with no time to spare, the first rays of dawn biting his hand seconds before he hustled into the lobby. The pain of his burned fingers and the frustration of another wasted night had him snapping at the doorman. Again.

His last thought, before dreamless sleep overtook him, was that he'd have to get Greg something better than bagels to make up for his bad temper, this time.

#

Mike scrubbed his hands over two day’s growth of stubble and stared down at the crime scene photos on his desk. He really should consider going home at some point before he forgot where he lived. 

But last night, standing in the garage where a woman had been brutally murdered because Mike wasn't figuring things out fast enough, he'd realized he'd missed something important. If the forensic photographer's flash hadn't gone off at just the right moment, he would have missed it again.

There, on the wall a few feet from the victim's car, nearly lost in the shadows, was a pentagram.  

The same pentagram that had been etched into the bricks near Ian's body. The mark had been carefully cataloged and photographed, but Mike had assumed it was regular old graffiti. There'd been nothing like it at the first crime scene. Nothing in any of the photos or reports, anyway.

As soon as he'd left the garage he'd gone straight back to where the first murder had taken place. And there it was. Half- hidden in shadows, a few feet from where the body was found. The photo he'd taken with his cell-phone was a little blurrier than the professional ones, but the details were exactly the same.

Now, it was nearly dinner time and he was still no closer to knowing what it meant.

It was times like this when he really missed Vicki. When it came to tenacity and detail, no one could touch her. But she was gone. Had ended her career sharply and cleanly. Moved to Kingston to be closer to her mother and open a private investigation business.

She'd made the break with him as surgical and matter-of-fact as her resignation. 

_ It's over. I'm never going to look at you and not see the job I had to give up. As long as I can see, that is. I have to move on, Mike. Find something else. You should, too. _

That was it. Two years, over in the blink of an eye. For two years she'd been his everything. They'd worked together, played together, laughed together and slept together. She'd been his lover, his best friend and his partner.

None of that, apparently, meant anything to her. 

Mike rubbed his hand over his chest, the ever-present ache had faded to a hollow sense of loss in the year she'd been gone. He still missed her, but he was taking her advice and moving on.  He'd dated some.  Gone through a few partners. Taken a few more risks than he should.

Now he and Graham had settled into an understanding. Dave let him go his own way and follow his own instincts on a case and Mike actually called for backup once in a while.

As for the dating, well, it seemed two dates was his limit at the moment. Either he pissed them off or they bored him to death.

Of course, the one person he'd found both attractive and intriguing was fifteen years younger than him and kept popping up in this case. Which meant Mike had to keep his wayward thoughts about Henry Fitzroy locked firmly away. 

Groaning, Mike stretched his arms behind him then hunched back over the file, flipping through pages of notes and photos and coroner's reports, hoping to find something, anything that would point him in a new direction.

An eight by ten photocopied map of Toronto, with the three murders marked on it, made him stop and stare. There was something… some hint… some shape… something he should be seeing.

He reached for a ruler and a marker. When he drew the last line, he sat back and blew out a deep breath. What the fuck? That couldn't be right. 

"Detective Celluci?"

He recognized Coreen's soft voice and glanced up to see the co-ed craning her neck to look at the map on his desk. Mike rolled his eyes and carefully shifted a file folder to cover the drawing he'd done.

"Coreen. I shouldn't be surprised." The surprise was that she'd waited thirty-six whole hours this time.

"Is that news? Have you found anything?"

"Nothing I can share, yet."

Her nose scrunched and her eyes narrowed. "How many people is this undead creep going to kill before somebody stops him?"

Mike understood her frustration. Felt it himself. He wanted this guy off the streets _now_. He'd use any means necessary. Even the unorthodox and the bizarre. 

He leaned back and considered his words carefully, knowing it could backfire on him spectacularly. 

"You're into this occult stuff, right?"

"Of course. I'm all about it."

"What's the significance of a pentagram?"

"It's a power symbol. They're used to focus power in rituals. Like, to call spirits." She chewed her lower lip and tilted her head thoughtfully. "Or demons. That kind of thing."

Mike nodded. He might not be looking for Coreen's 'Nightwalker' but he might be looking for some psycho who believed he could bring one to life. 

Coreen's gaze sharpened on his face, eyes a little too discerning for his comfort. "Why? What did you find?"

"Nothing yet," he answered distractedly, pulling the map out from under the file. He quickly folded it and stood up, picking his jacket up and tucking the paper in his pocket before swinging it on. "Hopefully, though, I’ll have something to tell you soon. I have to go, Coreen."

He moved passed her, ignoring her questioning look, eager to check out his theory. But her hand landed on his arm and her frowned deepened into concern.

"Detective Celluci, you not going to go face a demon alone are you?"

He chuckled, then immediately regretted it when her eyes flashed. "I doubt there will be an actual demon, Coreen. I'm a cop. I can handle myself."

She started to speak but he held up his hand and smiled softly. "I promise, you don't have to worry about me. If there is anything out of the ordinary, procedure is to call for back up. I will be fine."

#

Coreen's stomach twisted into knots when she watched the detective stride out of the bullpen.

She had a really bad feeling about this. Really. Bad.

Had she made a mistake, pushing him to look at paranormal possibilities? She'd wanted him to take the threat seriously, to be aware of the danger. She'd wanted him to be safe while he searched for this killer. She hadn't expected him to rush out to meet it. Alone.

She leaned against the desk, worry gnawing at her and glanced around. None of these cops would take her seriously. No one would rush out to protect the decorated detective. They'd tell her the same thing he had. Detective Celluci was a trained professional more than capable of taking care of himself. There are no such things as demons or vampires.

But she knew better. 

There was one person, though, who might believe her. 

She was dialing her cell phone before she could give herself a chance to second guess the wisdom of it.

"Henry Fitzroy." When he answered rather than voicemail, Coreen let herself sag back against the desk in relief. 

"Mr. Fitzroy? This is Coreen Fennel. We met at the police station the other night."

"I remember," he said, and she thought she heard a faint sigh on the other end of the line. "How did you get my number?"

Busted. 

"I, uh, have a friend who works at the Nocturne Bookstore. They still had your information on file from your last signing."

"Of course." He sounded resigned but maintained a polite calm.  More than she expected really. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea, after all. "What can I do for you, Miss Fennel?"

"It's not for me. Well, I'm the one calling, but I'm worried about Detective Celluci. He's in trouble. Or, well, not yet. I think he's about to be though and he didn't believe me…"

"Coreen, take a deep breath." The civil resignation was gone and concern sharpened his voice. "Tell me what's going on."

So she spilled everything. The map Celluci wouldn't quite let her see. The questions about the pentagram. Her fears about demons or other nightwalkers. Celluci going alone.

"Okay, Coreen. Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

Before she could ask how or if he even knew where to start, the phone clicked in her ear and he was gone.

Still, the tight worry tensing her muscles eased and she breathed a little more freely. She probably shouldn't be as relieved as she felt. She didn't really know Fitzroy. He wasn't much bigger than her and he didn't look any older than she did, either.

She knew first hand, though, looks could be deceiving.

The first time Coreen had seen Fitzroy, she'd known he was more dangerous than he looked.  Now, she had to trust him to protect the detective, since she couldn't.

#

Henry hung up and looked at the map spread over his drawing table. The free-hand pentagram splashed across the center of the city mocked him.

Yes, he had a good idea of where Detective Celluci was going.  If Henry didn't get there first, it could end very, very badly. He was on his feet and at the door in a flash, swinging on his leather duster and letting it settle on his shoulders as he stepped into the elevator. 

The fear clamping his gut was for the possibility of exposure he faced, the longer this monster roamed his streets. It had nothing to do with a particular square jaw or hints of dimples. He'd save Celluci, if he could, to protect his own secrets. Not because the man drew him in a way he hadn't felt for a long, long time. 

Getting involved with mortals only led to heartbreak. He'd learned that lesson, eventually.

Full dark had fallen by the time he'd found a comfortable place to perch in the park. No scent of sulfur or blood wafted on the air. No unnatural sounds drifted from the denser areas of the park. But there was an anticipation humming along his nerves and he knew something was coming. Something dark and ugly and unnatural.

Henry didn't have to wait long. 

A high, terrified scream rent the night and he was in motion before he even felt his feet hit the ground.

Celluci beat him there, though, and Henry went cold and tight at the sight. The demon had taken human form and held the weakly struggling girl by the throat. Celluci had his gun out, trained on the sneering beast, and advanced on the monster as he shouted.

"Toronto PD! Put the girl down and get on your knees. Now. Put the girl down or I'll shoot."

"Celluci, no!" The words tore out of Henry's throat but it was too late.

The detective had gotten too close. 

A long arm, ending in wicked looking claws, swung out in a wide back-hand arc that connected solidly with Celluci's head. The detective was lifted off his feet and flew backwards ten feet before falling into an unmoving heap.

"No!" Henry started toward the fallen man, panic blurring everything but prayers and hope-against-hope those blades had missed fragile flesh. Then the sound of a heartbeat, steady and strong penetrated the fog of fear. 

Mike was alive.

The girl screamed again and the demon laughed. Henry shifted mid-stride, but it was too late. The claws swung back, raking across her throat and cutting the sound off abruptly. It dropped her and glanced toward the fallen detective. 

Henry didn't think, didn't plan. Just dove at the monster, full speed, hand reaching for its throat, ready to end it.

But the demon shifted and side-step too fast for the vampire to adjust. Henry grabbed its back but the demon kept moving, spinning away and breaking his hold as if he were nothing more than a nuisance. In a blink, it stood three feet away, claws at the ready, daring Henry to make a move.

Fast. As fast as Henry. And as strong.

Henry had to stop it, no matter what. Had to keep it away from Mike. He dove forward again and time became a blur of movement.

_ Kick. Block. Kick, kick. The demon was down. Then on its feet in a blur of motion. A fist aimed at red eyes and bad teeth, there one minute, gone the next. Henry shifting the momentum into a side kick.  _

_ Punch. Block. Duck.  _

_ Huge hands curling in Henry's jacket, lifting, launching them both into the air. Henry twisting, falling, landing on top of the demon. Scrambling back to avoid the swipe of claws. _

_ Crouching, watching, waiting. _

But the demon was in no hurry to get up this time.

"You're not like the others," it said, voice dark and guttural, yet almost hypnotic. It pushed up to a crouch. "My master knows you. He's coming for you."

It pushed suddenly, leaping forward. Henry brought his hands up knowing he was too slow, too late.

A cloud of black wings exploded around him and then the night went eerily quiet.

When he dropped his arm the demon was gone, like it had never been. Except for the two crumpled bodies.

Henry rushed to Celluci's side, already knowing there was nothing left to be done for the girl. His fingers gently touched the warm, soft skin of the detective's neck, confirming the sweet, steady pulse he heard was more than wishful thinking. 

Blue eyes squinted at him, voice barely more than a breath whispered, "Fitzroy?"

Before Henry could decide what to say, lights flashed and a siren wail grew quickly closer. 

Without thinking, without intending to, Henry brushed the hair back from Mike's forehead. Then he was on his feet and moving faster than the human eye could track away from yet another crime scene.

#

Mike stood outside the penthouse apartment and rubbed at his head. He wondered if the psychopath in the park had knocked a few of his screws loose, as well as giving him a concussion. He shouldn't be here. 

A girl was dead. He could have stopped it. _Should_ have stopped it. Instead, he'd sprawled on the ground, drifting in and out of consciousness. He couldn't have seen what he remembered seeing. The impossible fight, flashing so fast, he couldn't tell where one fighter ended or the other one began in the blur of motion.

What he did remember was Fitzroy. Touching him. Looking worried and fearful. Then disappearing in the blink of an eye.

Mike rubbed his temple again. What he couldn't explain to himself, was why he hadn't mentioned the kid to the uniforms who'd first arrived on scene. Or to Dave Graham when he'd showed up, a few minutes later. Or to Crowley, when she'd been reaming him out for letting a serial killer get away.

He should be here to arrest Fitzroy. Or, at the very least, bring him in for questioning. 

Yet he couldn't forget the concern. The gentleness of the touch. Fitzroy knew something, Mike was sure of it. Yet, for some reason, he was just as sure Henry wasn't a cold blooded killer. 

Yeah, definitely a few screws loose. 

Tired of chasing his own thoughts in circles, Mike knocked sharply on the door. 

The door opened immediately, the irritating smug smile tugging Fitzroy's mouth in an enticing curl.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to get around to knocking. Greg called to let me know you were on your way up ten minutes ago."

Mike snarled a little, but didn't have a good comeback. Honestly, he'd spent the time trying to separate his gut feelings from the facts and failing. Seeing the kid, at home, relaxed and leaning against the door in the luxurious surroundings made it even harder. 

Silk shirt, clinging and flowing with every movement. Tight black pants. And barefoot. The pale toes made him suddenly feel like a voyeur and he dragged his eyes back up only to find the smirk even sharper, satisfaction and something darker deepening Fitzroy's eyes.

"Are you going to let me in, or what?" 

"Of course, Detective. Make yourself at home." The kid waved toward a love seat and chair, while he closed the door behind Mike. "Can I get you a drink?"

Mike flopped onto the delicate looking love seat, surprised to find it was sturdier and more comfortable than it looked.  As much as he'd love a stiff belt of something, between the concussion and his exhaustion, it wouldn't be a good idea. "No, thanks. I'm still on duty."

"When aren't you?" Fitzroy murmured before settling on the arm of the chair across from him. "What can I do for you, Celluci?"

"How about we start with you explain to me what the hell happened in the park?"

Fitzroy's teeth sank into his bottom lip and he had the gall to try to look coyly up at Mike from under his lashes. "I don't suppose you'd believe I wasn't there?"

"I don't have any more time for your games, Fitzroy." He leaned forward and snarled. "There's a dead girl in the park and I want answers."

"I didn't kill the woman. You were there." He stood up and pushed his hand through his hair. "You must have seen it." 

What he'd seen made no sense. Yet, he believed Fitzroy. Wanted to believe him. Instead of accepting the denial at face value, Mike leaned back and glared. 

"I saw something. I don't know what it was."

Fitzroy looked down at him, studying him, then began to pace.

"Just tell me what's going on." Mike meant it to be a demand. A command. It came out softer. A request. A plea.

That stopped Fitzroy mid-stride. This time, when he looked at Mike, his expression was resigned and resolved. He flopped onto the love seat and his body brushed against Mike's coat and Mike swallowed hard on the ridiculous, fleeting wish that he'd taken the damn thing off so there'd be on less layer between them.

"There's a demon."

Mike blinked, his wandering mind had not been prepared for that.

"A demon? Right. Next you're going to tell me he's in league with Coreen's vampire."

"Not exactly," Fitzroy's wince when he spoke was a surprise, but not the way he kept looking away. Mike wouldn't be able to look someone in the eye after delivering a whopper like that, either.

"Exactly, what, then?"

Fitzroy's met his, finally, the blue wide and earnest. "Would you believe me if I told you I am a vampire?"

"No."

"My cynical detective," Henry's lips twisted, amused and frustrated at the same time. "Only believing what your eyes can see. What your hands can touch."

The voice lowered on the last few words and the image of his hands on Fitzroy sent a shiver of sensation dancing through Mike. He turned the movement into a shake of his head.

"What else is there?"

"So much more." The voice was still low, the gaze intense. Then Fitzroy shifted, his eyes and smile hardening slightly. "But that's a conversation for another time."

The artist stood up and moved to his desk. The letter opener he pulled out was more like a dagger and Mike was on his feet without a thought, hand reaching for his gun.

"Easy, Detective. Just a little demonstration." Fitzroy held out his free hand and kept the dagger in a loose, non-threatening grip. 

When Mike dropped his hand, the smile he got was both sad and hopeful.

Then Fitzroy was pushing the blade straight through his hand, his face going tight and even paler with the pain.

Mike heard the gasp before he realized it came from him. Before he realized he'd taken a step forward, hand outstretched to stop, to help, to do something.

When Fitzroy looked up from the wound, however, Mike stopped abruptly. The primitive part of his brain gibbered at him to run, but he stubbornly held his ground despite the now-black eyes and predator's teeth on display behind curled back lips.

With a deep inhale, Mike wrested enough control back from his adrenaline to keep his voice relatively calm.

"Nice trick. Does it usually impress the audience?"

"Not a trick." The voice was Fitzroy's, but different. Deeper. Melodic. Soothing. The kind of voice someone could get lost in. If he wasn't too stubborn to fall for that kind of crap.

"I'm telling the truth," Henry insisted, holding out the wounded hand. The hole was already sealing itself back together, skin sliding back until every trace of it was gone. Like it had never been.

"Fuck," Mike muttered, running his hand over his face. The adrenaline dropped out from under him, leaving him even shakier than he'd been before. He sat back down on the couch, landing a little harder than he’d expected. "Fuck."

The love seat shifted under him, and he could feel the body sitting next to him. The tentative hand on his sleeve. 

"Mike?"

With one last, deep, fortifying breath, he looked back up. But the kid… vampire?… was back to normal. Smooth skin, bright eyes, warm smile.

"Yeah, okay. Vampire. Got it." Another deep breath, and his brain started to kick in with a detective’s slew of questions. "Why are you trying to stop it, then? Don't undead creatures stick together?"

"What, like honor among thieves?" Fitzroy laughed, his hand squeezing where it still rested on Mike's wrist. "This is my city. I like it here. The headlines are screaming about a vampire killer and it’s only a matter of time until some wacko realizes they've never seen me in the sunlight. Then I'll either have to kill to protect myself or move to another city."

"Kill to protect yourself? You don't kill to eat?"

"No, I don't kill to eat. I don't need that much to survive, unless I'm seriously injured. A sip here or there is more than enough." He leaned in slightly, so his words ghosted across Mike's cheek.  "And there are more… pleasurable… ways to get what I need."

Fitzroy shifted back then and took his hand away from Mike's arm, holding it up to show the rosary dangling from his wrist.

"I'm also not afraid of crosses, holy water, or garlic. I even go to church, whenever there's a midnight mass."

Mike took that in. He had a million more questions, but right now the focus needed to be on the killer loose in his city.

"I suppose next you're going to tell me I can't catch this guy without you?"

The smirk appeared on cue and the… vampire… shrugged. "Even if you'd been able to move fast enough, your gun would have no effect on the demon.  You don't have a hope of stopping him, physically. You don't even really know what you're dealing with."

"So tell me, what am I dealing with?"

"Right now, a minor demon. But the killings, the pattern? There's a purpose to it. If he completes the pentagram, it will only take one more sacrifice to open a gateway for a master demon."

"A master demon? Something worse than the bastard killing in my city?"

"Much worse. Think hell on earth. Think apocalypse and ruin."

A cold trickle of fear worked its way through Mike. "So what do we have to do to stop it?"

"The minor demon didn't just appear in Toronto on its own. Someone called it. Someone human. If we stop the human before he brings the master demon through, we can end the murders."

Mike couldn't believe he was listening to this. Couldn't believe he was contemplating acting on it. Yet, there was too much about this case that didn't make sense. Too much of what he'd seen that could only be explained by what Fitzroy had said.

"Okay. All right. How do we find the creep who's calling a demon up in my city?"

Henry seemed to unknot right before Mike's eyes. He hadn't realized how tightly the artist had been holding himself, until he relaxed. His shoulders eased, and his body suddenly looked fluid and relaxed. The tightness around his eyes gave way to a smooth, relieved expression. 

Mike swallowed hard and balled his hands into fists, forcing himself to concentrate on Henry's answer, rather than how attractive the vampire was. Or how much he wanted to move closer. To find out what Fitzroy’s lips would taste like.

"We do it the old fashioned way. Legwork. The minor demon can only offer material goods. But he can't create, only steal from someplace close to where he'll deliver them. Hopefully, a search of police records will show an escalation in odd thefts over the last few days. At least give us a starting place to look."

"Ah, so that's why I'm here. To do the boring file searches."

Henry shrugged. "Better than attempting hand to hand with a demon." 

He reached out and carefully brushed fingers over the bruise on Mike's temple. "Leave that to me, huh?"

For a second, Mike gave into the urge to lean against the delicate yet strong hand. Then he straightened, forcing a chuckle.

"So, I'm the brains and you’re the brawn in this partnership, huh?"

"Hardly. I'm the brain _and_ the brawn. You're just the lackey." Henry smirked and shifted, putting a little space between them and letting Mike breathe again. "I'll also be working some of my contacts in the… esoteric underside of the city. Hopefully, someone will have heard something about a new, wanna-be magician."

"Wanna-be?"

"An experienced practitioner wouldn't let a minor demon run wild with this kind of freedom. Even if they don't care about calling attention to themselves, there's too much chance of losing control of it completely. And that is a fatal mistake."

A soft chime hummed in the air and Henry's head twisted toward the clock on the wall. 

"Dawn is less than an hour away."

Mike glanced from the clock to the curtain covered windows. "Fuck. Right. I need to catch a couple hours of sleep, too. So, now what?"

"Find out what you can. Meet me here tonight an hour after sunset. We'll figure out where to go from there."

"An hour?" he asked, irritation and the itch to move faster edging into his voice.

 "Give me a chance to shower, dress, touch base with my contacts." Henry flashed a hint of teeth.  "Get a bite to eat."

"Funny," Mike rolled his eyes and headed for the door.

He'd just reached for the handle, when Henry's hand landed on his shoulder.

"Mike?"

He stopped and turned to look at the vampire. The hand on his shoulder shifted with the move, but continued to grip him softly.

"You didn't tell anyone I was there, last night, did you?" Henry asked the question, but the thoughtful gaze told Mike he already knew the answer.

"No."

"Why not?" 

The hand on him shifted, fingers brushing against his neck. Mike swallowed hard and told himself it could have been an accident. Which still didn't explain why he hadn't shrugged off the touch.

"If I told them that, I'd have had to tell them the rest of what I'd seen. Didn't really want to spend 72 in the psych ward."

He shrugged and ducked his head. It was part of the truth. But Mike hadn't even admitted the whole truth to himself yet. He sure as hell wasn't ready to try to explain it to Henry.

"Thank you," Henry murmured and Mike's gaze locked onto the soft lips.

This time, there was no doubt that he deliberately curled fingers around Mike's neck. Mike started to bend, to shift their bodies even closer. His head throbbed, reminding him of the injury. And the demon. And the case. After Vicki, he wasn't getting involved with a partner. Even a temporary one.

"I should go. Dawn. Sleep." He felt like an idiot, stumbling over his words like some teenager on his first date while he back-pedaled out the door. It didn't help his ego when he heard Henry's soft chuckle just before the elevator doors closed.  
  
[Part 3](http://elyssblair.dreamwidth.org/27734.html)

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

  


Celluci was prompt, Henry had to give him that. Precisely one hour after Henry had risen, the detective was knocking on his door. 

"Come in, Detective," Henry called, slipping on the soft linen shirt he'd pulled out to replace the sweatshirt he'd thrown on before hurrying out to feed.

The detective was halfway into the room, when he looked up and stopped abruptly to stare. An imp in Henry made him slow down the process of buttoning up the shirt. Carefully slipping each round stud into its hole before sliding up the fabric to start all over again.  Seeing Celluci's pink tongue dart out to wet his lower lip was gratifying. 

And frustrating, since they had no time to do anything about the sizzling hum of attraction vibrating between them.

Celluci must have seen the heated awareness in Henry's face and realized he'd been staring too long, because he jerked his head in the opposite direction. The detective seemed suddenly enthralled with the art decorating the walls while Henry finished dressing.

Henry took the reprieve, as well, tucking the interest and curiosity away. They had a demon to catch. Seduction could wait until later.  A bite of self-honesty poked at him. Seduction was definitely on the list, but Michael Celluci was fascinating and interesting and Henry wanted…

Something that was never good for him. Something that never ended well for him.

"History buff?"

Henry looked up to see that Mike had stopped in front of the painting of Henry VIII.

A legion of emotions, long buried, threatened to break free of their chains. Instead of giving in, Henry rolled his shoulders and set his expression to wry amusement.

"Family photo, actually."

That got Celluci's full attention and he turned with narrowed eyes. "How old did you say you were?" 

"480. Give or take."

"4—" Mike studied him then let out a breath. "Okay. Not the strangest thing you've told me in the past twenty-four hours."

He turned back to the picture and Henry crossed the room to stand next to him, careful not to touch. Especially because it was all he really wanted to do.

"Not much of a paternal resemblance, huh?"

That got him another double take.

"Henry. Fitzroy…" Mike said slowly. "That would make you… Henry, Duke of Richmond?"

Slightly surprised, Henry looked from the corner of his eye. "Are you a student of history?"

A faint hint of pink stained the edges of Celluci's cheeks.  "My ex… partner minored in history. I'd, uh, occasionally pick up some of her books, sometimes. Out of boredom or whatever."

There was so much more to that story, if Mike’s blush and the rapid thrumming of his heart was anything to go by. Before Henry could ask any probing questions about the ex… _partner_ , though, Celluci was pulling his shoulders back and shifting the muscles of his face until they fell into a flat, neutral expression. 

"So how do you know so much about demons, anyway?"

Henry decided to let the detective changed the subject. For now.

"London. 1890. A group of spoiled, rich men and women bored with their pampered lives dabbled in things best left alone and called themselves the Hellfire club. The leader, a man named O'Mara tricked me into their dungeon and tried to offer me as a sacrifice to the demon master." 

Henry shuddered and pushed the worst of the cold memories away. "In the end, I had to kill O'Mara to prevent an apocalypse. I stole the grimoire so no one could ever call up that abomination again. It seems, though, someone has found a way to call it, despite my best effort. The master demon is the one I faced before. And he remembers me."

Mike shifted closer, their arms pressing into one another. The silence drifted for a moment, but they didn't have much time to spare.

Henry stepped away before he could allow temptation to win and asked, "Did you find anything interesting in the burglary reports?"

"I'm not sure. Definitely some weird thefts in the University Annex area. Money missing from a locked vault. Car disappeared from a showroom floor. Could a student call something that could do this?"

"It's likely, actually. Someone more experienced wouldn't have been so sloppy. One of my contacts is a professor at the university. She's going to send me a list of names of her students who have the interest or the knowledge to perform the rituals correctly. I gave her your information, since it will probably be tomorrow before she can compile the list."

"So we just wait?"

Celluci's agitation was obvious in the way he shifted, and glanced toward the door.

"No. We have the map. We know where the demon will probably strike next. It has to finish the pentagram."

Blue eyes lit with determination. "Right. Let's go."

#

The park was quiet around them and it felt uncomfortably intimate as they walked through it. Close. Too close. So close, their fingers brushed with every step. Mike knew he should move away. Put a little space between them.

But he didn't. Neither did Fitzroy. Instead, Mike asked the first question that popped into his head. 

"So. How does the illegitimate son of one of England's most infamous kings become a vampire?"

Henry kept walking, focusing on the trail in front of them. His lips quirked in amusement, however.

"A woman. Of course."

Mike nodded and muttered "Isn't it always?"

"We met at my father's court. She never let me see her during the day." He shrugged and glanced at Mike. "Sometimes, if you love someone too much, you shut off your rational mind."

_ Been there.  _ Mike remembered Vicki. Remembered breaking every personal code and professional policy in order to be with her. They'd worked together. Slept together. Their free time involved Chinese food and sharing their favorite movies. He hadn't realized how much his life had become entwined with hers until she was gone. Then he'd been alone. Empty. Struggling to figure out what his life was without her in it 24/7. After a year he was finally starting to find his balance again.  

"Yeah," he said softly. "I get that."

"After a while, the people at court became suspicious of her. One night, she came to me and told me she had to move on. Confessed the truth of her existence to me. I begged her to turn me."

Mike stopped mid-stride and stared. "You wanted it?"

"I wanted _her._ " Henry stopped, too and looked back. "Wanted to be with her forever."

Mike swallowed hard. He hadn't thought his relationship with Vicki in terms of forever but he’d never thought about it ending, either. It had just been nice not to be alone. To know there was someone there, next to him. If he had thought it would last beyond the moments she was willing to give him, that was his own fault.

"So, what happened? Forever turned out to be somewhat shorter than expected?"

Henry turned to look out into the deeper shadows of the park.

"She tried to warn me vampires couldn't share the same hunting ground.  But I was young and idealistic enough to believe love could conquer anything."

He shrugged and started walking again. "When she fed from me, that last time, I was aware of it. It was… intense. Beyond any pleasure we'd shared before. She took enough that it would kill me. Then she gave me her blood in return. I died. Then returned from the dead to run away with her."

The vampire's voice was wistful and his eyes looked far away. 

"The next year was the best one of my life, before or after. She taught me how to hunt and how to protect myself. We greeted each dawn tangled together in our secluded bed chamber. Woke each dusk the same way."

"I get the feeling this story doesn't have a happily-ever-after," Mike murmured, curling his fingers tight into themselves to keep from reaching out a comforting hand.

"No. Definitely not a Disney ending. After a year, the territorial instincts she'd warned me about surfaced. We fought, brutally. Then she disappeared."

And didn't that sound like a familiar story? 

"So, what? She turned your life upside down, changed you and then you never saw her again?"

"If you live long enough, everything comes around again."

"Are you hoping for that? Do you still love her?"

This time it was Henry who stopped but the look he gave Mike was indecipherable.

"She was my first love. My first obsession. I will always love her. But I am not the same boy, any more than she would be the same woman, after all this time. I've loved too many women and men in the intervening years not to realize what we had, even before I changed, was not a permanent, home-family-stability kind of love."

Mike inhaled sharply, so much left unspoken in those quiet words made him want to know more. To question more. 

And the way Henry's eyes, full of heat and possibilities made him want to shiver in anticipation. It was a relief to know for sure that the attraction may well be mutual. The flirtation could be real. Not just his wishful thinking. Even if it was still a bad idea.

"You've loved… a lot? Have you turned anyone?"

Henry lowered his lashes, sadness creating tiny lines around his eyes. "Some. Those who wanted to be changed. Some were only brief, fleeting affairs. Some… some remained human and I stayed with until their last moment."

Christ. Mike choked on that. Couldn't even imagine. At least Vicki was alive. Out there. As happy as she'd let herself be. He couldn't imagine.

"Why?" The question popped out, though he knew it was inappropriate. When Henry just raised an eyebrow, Mike straightened his shoulders and tried again. "How could you just set yourself up to get kicked in the teeth like that, again and again?"

"Because, being alone and lonely is its own type of hell. I build the memories to hold onto.  It's not so different than you, really. If you got involved with someone today, it could only end in one of two ways. Either you'd break up somewhere down the road. Or you'd stay together until one of you died and the other had to continue on alone."

He was right. Of course he was. As much as it felt like Vicki had eviscerated him, he couldn't imagine spending the next forty or fifty years alone. He'd finally started dating again, at least casually, a few months ago. Now, it was taking all he had to keep his eyes, and his hands, off the gorgeous vampire sauntering in front of him.

"Besides there's a tiny glimmer of hope for me. At least, according to the fables."

Henry shifted and they started strolling along the path, side by side, again.

"Fables? Vampires have their own fairy stories?"

"Of course we do. We start out as human. And a good story is dear to the heart of nearly every human. So is the idea of a soulmate."

"Vampire soulmates? This I have to hear."

Henry glanced around at the quiet night and the empty park. "It's a long story but I suppose we haven't got anything better to do while we wait for a demon.  It starts with the most popular origin story passed on from sire to fledge. According to lore, all vampires are descended from the son of Persephone, Hades and Hecate."

"How's that work?" Mike asked with a frown. "Having three parents?"

"It's not the strangest birth in Greek mythology," Henry chuckled. "The story is that Persephone desperately wanted children, but as god of the dead, Hades had lost the ability to create life. So she asked the goddess of magic and childbirth to help them. Hecate agreed, but the price would be that the child would be hers, as well, and she'd get to have a hand in raising it."

The feel of Henry's pinky scraping across his in rhythm of their steps made Mike realize they'd moved into each other's space yet again. With a deep breath, he forced himself to focus on the story and _not_ the ridiculous amount of pleasure he felt at each inadvertent touch.

"They waited until there was a proper alignment of stars and planets, then Hecate cast the spell. The child was born nine months later and raised by his three doting parents. Eventually, he grew up and became embroiled in the politics of Olympus, which led to a duel with Apollo."

"Let me guess. That doesn't end well."

"No. It ends with one of the sun gods arrows through his chest. Hades, Persephone and Hecate grieved for him until they eventually figured out a way to resurrect him.  In his rebirth, the first vampire was created.  Immortal, but vulnerable. Hunger that could only be quenched by blood. Forced to hunt the night because the burning arrow that killed him left him vulnerable to the sun. The rest of Olympus looked at him as an abomination. Zeus banished him to the mortal realms and forbade the three gods from ever again casting the spell that created him in the first place. Alone and abandoned, the first vampire created others of his kind, but, well, I've already told you how that works out."

"Greek myths are always kind of depressing, aren't they?"

"Actually, the story doesn't end there. Hecate's initial spell had altered Hades and Persephone enough that, the next time the stars aligned properly a couple of centuries later, she conceived another child. Without Hecate in the mix, though this child, a daughter, was born mortal."

"Zeus was furious, but he couldn't forbid them from doing what married people do, so instead, he insisted each mortal child Persephone bore must be fostered in the human realm. Grief stricken, Persephone followed, watching over the child as she grew. Twenty years later, the girl met the vampire and they fell in love, never knowing they were brother and sister."

"Another common theme among the Greek myths."

Henry smirked and nodded. "Eventually, the vampire was forced to turn her when she fell ill with the plague. Only she didn't become a vampire. She became something else. Something immortal but without the need for blood or the fear of the sun."

"And they lived happily ever after?"

"Surprisingly, yes. And every time the stars align, Persephone has another child. A child that can become a mate and companion to some lucky vampire."

"You all live in hope of finding her?"

"Or him. But yes. It’s a long shot, but it’s better than giving up."

Screams pierced the quiet night and story time was over as they raced toward the skate park and the sound of terror.

#

The demon held a teenage boy by the throat. Another, body lay motionless on the ground and Henry knew it was already too late for that one. The demon was too busy taunting the boy in his hand to see Henry coming until he launched himself and hit the monster square in the chest.

Both rolled to their feet with blinding speed. 

_ Clawed fist coming at him. Block. Cross. Counter. A swipe of claws and Henry pushed off, back, barely making it out of the way. _

The demon seemed faster, stronger. Another kill had given it more power. But Henry had too much to lose.

_ Another swipe. Henry side-stepped, grabbed the arm, twisted. The throw took the demon to the ground. _

_ Back on its feet in a flash, Henry already spinning into a kick. _

_ Left himself open. Claws slicing, pain like acid biting into his flesh. Falling. Pressing his hand to the seeping wound and the world around him blurred. _

The demon straightened. Laughed and taunted him but Henry's eyes sought out Mike, crouching over the second boy with his weapon ready. Still alive. Both of them.  Henry could see their breath, hear their hearts. The third, though. Henry had been too late to save him. Again.

"You see?" the demon sneered and Henry stiffened, refocusing on the threat in front of him. "We're stronger. When the master rises, you'll suffer."

"I don't think so," Mike snarled, surprising both Henry and the demon with how close he'd gotten to the infernal creature's back, gun ready.  

The Detective fired twice into the demon's chest as it turned, but the monster didn't even flinch. Henry struggled to push himself up. He could see it coming but knew he couldn't stop it. The clawed hand reached out, grabbing Mike by the throat and shaking him, before tossing him aside like a limp toy.

Henry hit the demon's back a second too late. 

_ The demon twisted, ducked, lashed out. Henry slid, avoided one, two. The third wild swing caught him, lifted him off his feet, sent him sprawling back against the fence _ . 

Henry's legs went weak, energy and strength dripping out with every drop of blood. Then the demon was there. One hand tight around his throat, sadistic smile sharp and bright in the moonlight. The cold fire of the claws slid between his ribs, spreading even more pain as they were ripped out, only to impale him again.

Henry rallied the last of his reserves and twisted, bringing his arm up at the last second to block the next thrust. He pushed the demon further off balance a spun them both, propelling his opponent over the railing next to them. The son-of-a-bitch hit the ground face first but bounced immediately to its feet before disappearing in a cloud of flapping black wings.

Henry slumped to the ground, trying to drag himself around to search out Mike, to check… to see… blood red pain edged his vision. Until he heard his name, and felt an arm wrap around him and anchor him in the world. 

#

"Henry. Henry!"

Mike cradled him close, hands hovering over the pierced, bleeding skin. There was too many wounds, he couldn't apply pressure to all of them at once. Didn't even know if it would do any good.

"Mike?"

Henry's voice rasped and his lashes fluttered weakly over eyes glazed with pained.

"Yeah. Here. I'm here," he murmured and tried to press closer without causing anymore pain. He pushed a curl of damp hair off of Henry's face and forced a smile, though his jaw clenched behind it. "C'mon. You're going to be okay, buddy. You've got to do that healing thing, like you did before."

The body in his arms shook and Mike wanted more than anything to offer comfort, but didn't know where to touch without hurting. The skin and cloth and flesh were shredded everywhere he could reach.

"Blood. Need… to… feed…"

Mike could barely hear the soft whisper and the tight body was going lax in his arms. There was no time to think. No time to consider the choices and the repercussions. He shoved the sleeve of his jacket out of the way then tore at the shirt-cuff until the button gave and exposed skin. 

He expected pain, the inevitable light-headedness of blood loss. After the first pinch of teeth, though, pleasure swam through his body and he relaxed into it, head dropping forward while the sweet-hot sensation wound its way to every cell of his body. Eventually, he felt the quick withdrawal of fangs when Henry's head jerked away.

It was impossible to tell through the ruined shirt and drying blood if it had had any effect at all. But Henry seemed marginally more with it, eyes clearer and the shaking less noticeable.

Then soft blue eyes looked up pleadingly. "Take me home. Please. Take me home."

"Yeah. Okay." Mike glanced around the carnage of the skate park. One dead kid. Another who was unconscious. Blood and shell casings and a mess his conscience wouldn't just let him leave. But Henry couldn't be around when the other's arrived. He'd be trapped here, or the hospital, well passed dawn. "Okay, just give me a minute."

Slowly, trying to keep his movement deliberate and smooth, Mike lowered Henry to the ground, then tugged off his coat to cover him. He didn't know if vampires went into shock. Hell, he didn't even know if they got cold. He couldn't just leave Henry like that, though. On the ground, covered in blood and looking so fucking young.

Once he'd done his best to make Henry comfortable, he sprinted toward the payphone at the entrance of the skate park and called 911. He didn't say a word to the operator, unwilling to risk anyone identifying his voice on the recording later, just left the handset dangling as the operator repeatedly asked if anyone was there.

He checked on the surviving kid next, but other than some livid bruises he seemed fine. He was mumbling and starting to come around. Mike could also hear the wailing of sirens getting closer and knew he didn't have much time to get Henry out of there. He grabbed up the spent shell casings and ran back to get Henry. 

Getting him to his feet and shifting the trench coat so it covered the worst of the blood and wounds, Mike half-supported, half-carried Henry out of the park and onto the streets of Toronto.

Eventually, Mike got Fitzroy home and wrestled the worst of the shredded, stained shirt and jacket off of him before dropping him onto the soft fabric of the huge bed. 

Thankfully, their staggering trip to Fitzroy's apartment had been witnessed by only a handful of people in the late night hours. Considering the way they were weaving and the way Henry was draped over him, most probably assumed they were drunk.

Except Henry's doorman. He'd looked surprised, then suspicious when they'd staggered in. In the light of the lobby, the spreading bloodstains couldn't be discounted as shadows and Greg hadn't looked reassured at all by Henry's strained, garbled, "I'm fine."

Mike would probably have to figure out a way to deal with him. Later.

For now, he went into the bathroom and grabbed a clean washcloth and towel. After he soaked the cloth in warm water, he spent a few, fruitless minutes searching for a first aid kit before realizing a vampire probably had no use for one.

Back in the bedroom, he climbed onto the huge bed next to Henry and tried to be as gentle as possible while he washed away dried blood and grime from pale skin. Trying to remind his body the entire time that the soft, warm skin was not spread out next him for his pleasure. That the lithe form and athletic muscles belonged to a man in pain. 

When the skin was clean and carefully patted dry, however, Mike couldn't help running his fingers lightly around the edges of the wounds. The skin was already starting to seal back together and the gashes were looking much less angry and life-threatening than they had an hour earlier.

Henry made a soft sound and Mike froze, taking his time turning his head to meet the vampire’s gaze.  He knew he was busted, caught paying too much attention, taking too much pleasure and staring too long.

He started to pull his hand away, but Henry's fingers, still shaky, moved to cover his hand and hold it in place.

"Thank you."

Mike tried to shrug it off. "Anyone would have…"

"No. No they wouldn't. Thank you."

The words were soft and heartfelt and Mike felt something wrap tight in his chest, found himself leaning closer.

A buzzer sounded from the front room and Mike jumped before he realized it was the door bell. Henry started to struggle his way up, but Mike just pushed lightly on his shoulder. 

"I got this one. You rest. Heal."

He stood up and his shirt clung to him. Damp and blood stained, as well, now. Answering the door like that would be a bad idea, so he stripped it off instead.

"Pretty," Henry murmured as Mike moved out of the bedroom and he couldn't resist turning to flash a smug smile.

Looking at the peephole of the front door, he could see Greg the doorman unsuccessfully trying to hide the sharpened stake and croquet mallet behind his back.

"Great," Mike muttered, tugging at his hair. There was really only one way to distract the man and diffuse the situation. He bit his lips hard to give them a swollen look and unbuttoned the fastening of his jeans, just enough for the observant to notice he wasn't wearing any underwear and waited for the doorman to press the buzzer again.

He pulled the door open in mid-buzz, let his eyes droop to half mast and allowed a lazy, self-satisfied smirk steal over his mouth.

"Sorry," he said, resting a hand on the door jamb over his head and leaning into it. "We were a little… busy the first time you buzzed."

"Ah, no. I'm sorry… I should have… I was just wondering if Mr. Fitzroy is okay? He seemed, uh, unwell, when you came in."

"Henry is… _fine,_ " Mike let all kinds of innuendo drip into the single word. "We were a little tipsy, when we left the club. The brick wall was a little rough on his skin. But I've kissed every one of his boo-boos all better. I was just about to start all over again, unless there's anything else?"

The doorman's eyes widened at the suggestive images Mike was deliberately painting. 

"Oh. No. I mean, good. That he's okay. Sorry to have, uh, interrupted." Greg turned back toward the elevator, forgetting to hide the weapons in his hands as he muttered to himself until the doors closed behind him. "Stupid. Stupid. Of course he's not…"

By the time Mike made it back to the bedroom, Henry was stiff and motionless on the bed, dawn having crept up on them, and Mike's cell was ringing. 

_ Dave Graham. _

Mike swallowed hard at the caller I.D. and tried his best to sound natural when he answered the phone. 

Time to face the repercussions of last night's debacle in the skate park.

#

Coreen let the back door of the pub slam behind her on the way out, relieved her shift was over. She couldn't wait to get home and wash the smell of grease and stale beer out of her hair. And maybe let the pounding of the shower drown out the sound of the constant mocking from the students who frequented the pub. Just the thought had her kicking her step into double-time as she crossed the campus.

It didn't matter if they didn't believe her. She didn't give a damn what they thought about her because she knew the truth. True evil existed. Preternatural creatures of all types walked among them looking completely innocuous.

Keeping a lid on her temper had never been her strong suit, though, and every time someone thought they were being clever or cute and she swallowed the urge to lash out, the anger burned a little brighter. She needed the job, though. She needed to keep focused and stay out of trouble until the whole vampire thing worked itself out.

"Coreen."

She stiffened and looked up at the sound of her name, ready to deal with another unimaginative, sarcastic crack.

But it wasn't one of the usual smart-asses. 

It was the creepy guy from the pub. A little weird and way socially awkward but a great tipper.

"It's Norman. From the pub." He took off his sunglasses and waved them awkwardly back in the direction she'd come from.

"Yeah?" 

She kept her response short, not wanting to encourage him. 

"Heard you were looking for a vampire?"

Coreen clenched her jaw and curled her fingers into tight fists. "I don't need anyone else to make fun—"

"Uh, hey, no," Creep held up his hands and shook his head. "No, no, no. I wanna' help. There are supernatural forces at play here."

He was trying hard to be earnest, but there was something off. Odd. All of her instincts were pinging, though. She was sure he _did_ know something.

"You're serious?"

"I can prove it. Back at my place. Let's go."

He spread his arms wide over the expensive red car next to him. 

"Okay. Just give me a minute," she said and pulled out her phone.

There was something off here. She knew it. But if there was a chance she could figure what the hell was going on, or better, how to stop it, she had to take it. Besides, she could take care of herself. Better than a beanpole like Norman.

Still…

She scrolled through her contact list, hesitating for a moment then selected a number. She wasn't surprised when voicemail picked up and she left a message. 

"Henry. It's Coreen. I met this guy named Norman. He says he knows about nightwalkers. I'll call you when we get to his place."

After she hung up, Coreen slid into the passenger seat and reached for her seatbelt. Before she could tell Norman to get a move on, a pungent smelling cloth covered her nose and mouth. She jerked, clawing at the hand pressing cruelly into her skin but darkness was already edging in.                          

#

Mike tossed his notebook onto the passenger's seat, dropped heavily behind the wheel and let the car door slam shut with a resounding clang. His head dropped back and he stared blankly up at the beige liner, wondering if Graham had been right. Maybe following up the list of names Henry's friend faxed over had been a long shot.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, fingers catching on the faint line of stubble despite the fact that he'd taken the time for a quick shave when he swung by his apartment for a change of clothes. He'd needed something not-bloodstained to wear and he hadn't wanted to explain why he looked like he hadn't been home yet.

The crime scene had looked pretty much the same in the early morning sun. A little less foreboding and gritty, but the bloodstains were the same. The kids were both gone, loaded into ambulances before Mike had arrived.  One dead. The other was going to be fine, though he didn't remember much after dinner at the sub shop around the corner.

Mike had felt cold and guilty at the relief that news had brought him. But there were some things he couldn't put in a police report. Not without spending 72 hours under observation, anyway. 

Back at the station, Mike had spent twenty minutes listening to Crowley lecture him about the pressures of the media, the council and the mayor.

By the time he'd escaped her office, the fax from Henry's friend, Dr. Sagara, had been waiting. Thirteen names had seemed somehow sadly appropriate. Also, impossible for him to check out himself all in one day. Mike had no doubt, one way or another, this whole thing would be over tonight.

Graham had thought he was crazy, tracking down wanna-be-wizards and pseudo-Satanists. But they had nothing else. No forensic links. No eyewitnesses. No matching crime patterns. So they'd split the list between them and Mike had been sure they'd find something. Someone. 

The last guy he'd interviewed, though, had lived in his mom's basement and was still in his Star Wars pajamas despite it being nearly dinner time. The grumble of his own stomach reminded Mike that coffee, stale breakroom donuts, and vending machine chips were not actual meals.

He glanced at his watch. An hour and forty-seven minutes until Henry woke up. Enough time to talk to one more name on the list and grab dinner to-go before going to check in on the vampire.

How insane was his life, that he now knew the precise moment of sunset each day?

Norman Bridewell's apartment was in a renovated warehouse and the second Mike stepped inside, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. There was something very, very off about the place and his instincts screamed of danger. He moved cautiously up the stairwell and considered knocking but tried the door handle instead. It opened easily. Mike knew he was ignoring every procedure he'd ever been taught, but, if Henry was right, he wasn't exactly going to find traditional forensic proof, anyway. The entire first room was filled with a mish-mash of items straight off the missing property reports he'd researched. A motorcycle. A pinball machine. An electric guitar. Looked like Norman was trying to live out every adolescent guy's favorite fantasies.

As silent as possible, Mike moved around all the stolen toys and slid toward the partially open door.

Inside, the second looked like a scene from a low-budget horror film.  White pentagram sketched out on the floor. Make-shift altar holding a chalice, a knife and enough candles to constitute a fire hazard. There were also dark brown splotches of what Mike could only assume was dried blood. On the altar. On the floor. On the knife. 

He shifted carefully to scope out the other side of the room and his blood turned to ice.  Coreen sat tied and gagged, head bowed and dark hair half shielding her face. He listened hard, but didn't hear any other movement. He couldn't leave her like that, at the mercy of a monster. He'd have to take a chance.

As soon as he rushed into the room, Coreen's head shot up and she started rocking in her chair, yelling unintelligibly behind the gag.

"Don't worry, Coreen. I'll get you out of here," he promised, crouching down to get a better look at the knots binding her.

Instead of being reassured, her eyes widened and her movements became even more frantic.

Then he realized she was looking at something behind him, heard the footsteps and turned a half-second too late. Something heavy landed across the back of his head and he crumpled, foggily thinking he really needed to learn to protect his head better. Mike fought to stay conscious but it was a losing battle, his eyes closing and his brain shutting down of their own volition.

"Well, I think we found our final sacrifice." 

The cold, amused words drifted over Mike as he faded out.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

 

Henry woke with the setting sun, his body completely healed and thrumming with vitality. If he was  disappointed to find himself alone in the bed, well, he was more than old enough to deal with it. It had been a long, long time, though, since he'd let anyone see him weak or needy. Even longer since someone held him and comforted him and hadn't tried to take advantage.

Still, he was sure Mike had better things to do than sit around watching Henry do his corpse impression all day.

By the time he'd cleaned up and dressed, Henry felt human again, relatively speaking, and less out of sorts that Mike hadn't even left a note.

 The fax machine held a single sheet of paper and he smiled at the names and addresses scrawled in neat, familiar handwriting. He'd definitely return the favor with a good meal when this mess with the demon was over. Perusing the list for anything familiar or out of place, Henry absentmindedly punched the buttons on his phone to play his voicemail.

The first message was Sagara, letting Henry know she'd faxed the list to both him and _his_ detective. He never could fool her.

The second was his agent reminding him of a signing at the end of the month and that his publisher needed those edits back ASAP. He guiltily avoided looking at his desk and the work he'd been ignoring for days.  If he didn't stop the demon master from coming through, the whole world might have bigger problems than missed deadlines.

The third message was from Mike. Henry tried not to grin at just the sound of the detective's voice, but he couldn't seem to stop the curl of pleasure he felt when he heard it.

"Hey, Fitzroy. I know you've got a few more hours of beauty sleep but I just thought I'd let you know I got the list from your friend and I'm heading out now to start interviewing them. I'll stop by around sunset to let you know what I found."

Henry frowned and glanced at the clock.  Granted, he hadn't been awake all that long, but Celluci had arrived to the minute of when he'd said the night before. Still, there was one more message. If he'd found a lead, he may have called to have Henry meet him somewhere.

However, the last message wasn’t from Mike.

" _Henry. It's Coreen. I met this guy named Norman. He says he knows about Nightwalkers. I'll call you when we get to his place_." 

But there wasn't another message from her, either. 

Then his eyes caught on a name halfway down Sagara's list.

Norman Bridewell.

Henry abruptly _knew_ where he was going to find Mike and Coreen. And he knew, without a doubt, he was going to need the grimoire once again.

#

The guttural chanting drummed in counterpoint to the throbbing in Mike's head. The pain made it difficult to think, to remember where he was or how he'd ended up face down on the floor. He tried to shift, to sit up, and panic rolled through him when he realized his arms were bound tightly at the wrists, his legs equally restrained at the knees and ankles. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up, bunched tightly around his elbows. The details of the investigation, and how he'd ended up unconscious on the floor, burst back into his memory and Mike forced himself to calm and take stock of the situation.

Whoever was chanting behind him, Norman Bridewell, he presumed, was dabbing something cool and sticky onto his wrists. He twitched again, trying to escape the sensation and test the bonds. But nothing gave.

The chanting and the painting paused, however. 

"Oh, good, you're awake."

The voice was calm. Almost normal sounding. Like this was an everyday occurrence. Then again, the son-of-a-bitch consorted with demons, kidnapped Coreen, knocked out a cop and was ultimately responsible for five deaths. Maybe this was what passed for normal in his world.

"Unfortunately for me," Mike said, keeping his expression deadpan and blank. "This is the worst party ever. You really have no idea how to make friends, do you Norman?"

A hand slammed hard into the back of his head and Mike saw stars. Norman leaned closer and growled, hand curling cruelly and painfully in Mike's hair while more gibberish poured out of his captor's mouth.

Then his head was released and Norman sat up abruptly, tossing a chalice of blood into the center of the pentagram. 

A flurry of shadowy wings converged in the center, until the too familiar demon stood in their place.

Coreen started to scream again, her gag dulling the sound and catching the tears streaming down her face.

"Coreen, we'll get through this." 

Mike did his best to project calm and confidence, even though he wasn't feeling it. By the time anyone realized something was wrong, this fiasco would be long over.

"It's about time you got here," Norman sneered at the demon then jerked his head toward Mike, his smile cruel and self-satisfied. "I got us the last sacrifice. Let's get this show on the road."

The demon crouched down, only the width of the circles boundary separating him from Mike. 

"Lord Astaroth _will_ be pleased."

Thin lips peeled back to reveal sharp teeth and fetid breath that made Mike gag. The fiendish eyes flickered greedily between Mike and Coreen, who'd gone stiff and steel-straight as she glared daggers down at the infernal monster. 

The demon spared Mike an indulgent glance before he licked his lips obscenely and smiled toothily at Coreen. No matter what Norman thought, the demon definitely had its own agenda. 

Mike twisted around trying to see Norman as best as he could. "You know he's using you, right? Demon's aren't exactly trustworthy."

The damn idiot just rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about? You don't even know him. For all you know, he's a nice guy."

The demon just smirked and raised an eyebrow.

Norman stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Okay. Let's get on with this… Uh, what have I got to say again?" 

The demon muttered gibberish and Norman started repeating the incantation.

With every word, Mike's wrists began to burn hotter and hotter until he screamed in agony. Biting hard on his lip, Mike tried focusing on the sounds around him to block out the worst of the pain. Norman's guttural chant, the heavy pant of his own breathing, Coreen's muted cries and the shaking of her chair. 

Then the candles flickered, the temperature on the room dropped and the burning eased into a throbbing ache. 

The demon froze and cocked his head. 

"He's here."

Then the dark figure exploded into darkness that covered the room. A green fog coalesced in the pentagram, filling it until the huge hazy form dominated the circle.

"Finally," the demon lord’s voice boomed and blank white eyes swept over room.

The ice cold fear of wrong-bad-evil crawled over Mike's skin and froze his brain. Coreen's chair crashed somewhere behind him but his bindings wouldn't give enough to let him twist around to see if she was okay.

"Finally is right!" Norman stepped forward, almost, but not quite brushing the line with his shoes while the demon watched greedily. "I've been waiting a long time to get what I want."

Norman jabbered at the demon and Mike used the moment of distraction to tug at his bindings but nothing gave. 

"Quickly, perform the sacrifice so I can fully enter this plane." As the potential sacrifice, that got Mike's attention fully back on the unfolding drama. "Then you'll have what you want."

Norman's eyes gaze greedily in Coreen's direction. "That's what I'm talking about!"

"Norman," Mike tried to keep his voice calm, trapping the panic behind the need to try one more time to get through to the man. "Norman, he's lying. He's not going to give you anything. He's going to kill you. He's going to kill all of us."

"Shut up," Norman said, voice distracted and matter-of-fact when he raised the knife high over Mike.

Then another sound ripped through the room.

Another voice, deep and resonant and wholly welcome tore at Mike's attention and he twisted awkwardly.

Henry.

The vampire stood like an avenging angel in the doorway, one hand cradling a heavy book, the other flung out toward the demon while his chanting grew louder and the demon lord flinched back. Norman froze, indecision obvious in the way his eyes flicked from Henry to Mike to Coreen to the demon before starting the circuit all over again. Mike tried to kick out at the hand still holding the knife but he couldn't get any leverage. All he managed to do was rub his feet over the pentagrams outline and smear it.

Henry's voice rose and the demon shouted back, inexplicable wind whipped through the room and the building shook from all the power being unleashed. A movement caught his eye, seconds before Coreen barreled into Norman  and knocked them both back out of Mike's line of sight. 

There was a thud or two and then Coreen was back, Norman's knife in her hands. 

"Coreen. Cut me free then get out of here!" Mike shouted.  

She knelt down beside him, and he shifted to give her better access to the ropes at his wrists.

"I'm sorry, Mike," she gulped, tears tracking down her face. "So sorry."

Before he could ask what for, the knife was moving and pain exploded when she made two deep, slashing cuts on his right wrist. He tried to wrench away but she was already slicing into his left arm. Blood, hot and sticky, pulsed out and his brain was already growing fuzzy.

"Coreen?"

The knife finally slipped through the ropes efficiently before it dropped to the floor next to his face. Coreen gathered him up, her hand brushed back his hair and her tears, a steady stream now, dropped on his skin. 

"I'm so, so sorry," she repeated over and over. Her soft hands cradled him and she rocked him carefully while sound and light faded into gray.

#

Henry had been able to smell the whole story as soon as he stepped into the warehouse. Mike and Coreen. Blood. Greedy excitement. Sulfur and the fetid decay of the underworld.

Now he was locked in a battle of wills with the demon lord. Wind tore at him, unseen hands scrabbled at him, the building shook all around him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Coreen free herself from the tangle of broken chair and ropes. Saw her knock the air out of Norman and kneel down to take care of Mike. He tried not to let his relief interfere with his concentration, refused to let his chant falter and kept his will focused solely on the infernal creature. 

He let the power of the Voice take over completely, shouting the last few syllables of the banishing ritual. 

"NO!"

The howl of the demon lord echoed off the stones, a sound of anguish and fury that ripped like glass. Then the blank eyes, glowing like coals turned on Norman who'd struggled back to his feet.

Norman saw the translucent hand reached for him. And the break in the protective circle made by Mike’s feet.

"Ah, crap," he said right before he was sucked into the center of the pentagram. He collided with the demon master, and a blinding burst of light and color exploded in the room.

When Henry blinked away the stars, demon and Norman were gone and he turned, desperate to check on Mike himself.

That's when he smelled the blood. Sweet and coppery and fresh.

"Mike?" Henry dropped down next to Coreen, trying to take it all in at once. Her gulping sobs, the deep wounds on Mike’s arms, the slowing beat of his heart.

"What the hell? What happened?" He saw the knife next to Coreen. "Did you do this?"

She took in a deep shuddering breath, and lifted her head. 

"If he'd been wearing the demon's marks when you banished Astaroth, he'd have been tied to it for eternity. It would have had a claim on his soul." Her eyes pleaded with Henry to understand. "He'd have been a magnet for every dark, corrupt thing that passed through the city. I had to protect him."

"By killing him?"

The tears had stopped and her mouth pressed into a thin determined line. "I know what you are. I knew you could save him. You have to bite him. Now. Before it's too late."

Bite him. Turn him. Henry's gut twisted at the thought. He'd wanted… more. With Mike. Thought they'd have so much time when the mess was over.  

When he turned Mike, they'd have a year, at most, before they couldn't stand being in the same city, let alone the same room.

It ached, in a way he hadn't hurt since he'd lost Christina. 

With careful reverence, he picked up Mike's wrist and pressed the wound to his lips. He swallowed carefully, wishing, just once, he could have tasted Mike in happier circumstances. One that involved hours of pleasure. And an actual bed.

Reluctantly, he withdrew his teeth and shifted his hold, until his fingers slid along Mike's and he carefully held the strong hand in his. He lifted his other arm to his mouth and bit flesh until the blood flowed freely then pressed over the softly opened mouth of the unconscious man.

He kept his skin pressed against the warm lips until he felt the flesh of his wrist heal over.

A hint of color was creeping back into Mike's cheeks, his breathing was already easier and his heart beating stronger.

When he looked back up a Coreen, he froze with a hundred questions dying on his lips. Her blue eyes were electric, glowing as if lit from within. Her skin was still as smooth and soft as it had been moments before, but she no longer looked young. She looked eternal. Timeless. Immutable.

"Who are you?"

She looked down at Mike, and carefully stroked her hand through his hair.

"I'm his mother."

#

Low whispers drew Mike out of the warm cocoon of unconsciousness though he couldn't quite focus on the words over the rumble of thunder or the rain hammering against the windows. Soft, hissing sounds of muted anger that were a confusing counterpoint to the strong hand cradling his hand and the thumb stroking soothing circles across his palm. Mike thought about opening his eyes, but he didn't need to see to know the touch was Henry's.

That the solid warmth stretched out comfortingly beside him belonged to the vampire. So did the cushioned bed beneath him. 

Bed.

Not the hard floor. Instead of harsh wind whipping over him, the room was cozy. The decayed scent of corruption no longer filled the air. Instead, it had been replaced with a hint of vanilla candles.

"What is he, now? He's not a vampire," Henry said, long fingers settled on Mike's chest. "He still has a heartbeat. So what is he?"

"He's alive," Coreen said, sounding grateful and relieved. Much the same way Mike felt, knowing she and Henry had made it out safe, too. A smaller hand settled onto his shoulder, opposite of the side Henry curled against.

"Yes, but how? You said you'd explain once we got him back to my place. We're here. Explain."

"I don't owe you any explanation, vampire." Coreen's voice had deepened, sharpened. It vibrated with power and Mike felt a shiver run through Henry.

Mike couldn't hide in the haze of half-consciousness anymore and forced his eyes open into narrow slits. He recognized the subdued lighting and luxurious fabric of Henry's bedroom. Coreen perched on one edge of his bed, her hand still on Mike's arm but her glare was directed at Henry. A glare that was too bright, like blue neon, in the faint lights.

"What about me?" Mike asked. He swallowed to ease his throat and get rid of the stale, coppery taste in his mouth. "Do I deserve an explanation for why you tried to kill me?"

"Michael! You're awake," Coreen cried, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her forehead against his. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, sitting up to wipe the tears away while she explained about the pentagrams on his wrist and what had happened after he'd passed out. 

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. I had to protect you from the demon. I knew Henry could save you."

He thought about what that meant and slowly turned to look at Henry. The vampire's hand was still tangled with his but he wouldn't quite meet Mike's eyes.

"So. I'm a vampire now?" 

Henry's gaze shifted to Coreen. "That's the question, isn't it? You're alive, when you shouldn't be after what happened. But you're not a vampire, either."

The tight fear binding Mike's lungs eased and he curled his hand tighter around Henry's fingers before turning to look at Coreen.

She sighed, settled more comfortably on the bed and tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

"Henry, how much have you told him about vampire origins?"

"All of it."

Her eyes flickered uncertainly for a moment, then she drew herself up, head held high and regal. The glow behind her eyes was impossible to ignore, now. So was the crackle of energy and power in the air.

"I am Persephone, Queen of the Dead."

Mike nearly laughed. Except he didn't think she was kidding. Or delusional. First vampires, then demons. Why not Greek goddesses incarnate?

Mike shook his head but found his mouth saying, "Okay."

Then she bit her lip and once again became the uncertain young woman she'd been pretending to be.

"I'm also your mother."

A lump formed in his throat, disbelief warring with absolute certainty. Henry shifted closer, silently offering support and Mike let himself sink back against the solid support of the vampire. He'd had parents, though he'd always known he was adopted. They'd been severe and strict and indifferent and Mike had never had any interested in finding his biological parents, only to be disappointed again.

"Okay," he repeated, not knowing what else to say. He definitely had never considered this possibility when he'd closed the door on his past.

"I'm not supposed to be here. I'm allowed to watch over you. But I'm not supposed to interfere." She relaxed a little and smiled. "We do, of course, Hecate, Hades and I. Usually, we're more subtle about it. When we saw there was a demon loose so close to you, I had to come, had to protect you. Or, at least, make sure you had protection."

Her eyes flickered over Henry. Then thunder crashed, loud enough to rattle the windows in their frames.

"Unfortunately, Zeus has caught on and isn't too happy about my being here." Her hand squeezed his shoulder and she stood up. "I have to go, before he's annoyed enough to take his displeasure out on you. I wish… I wish we had more time to get to know each other."

She walked to the door and paused. "When you go back to Norman's apartment, there'll be enough evidence to prove he was responsible, even though you'll never actually find him. Don't worry, though, there's not a drop of your blood left there for anyone to find."

Then she was gone before Mike could even form the first of the multitude of questions demanding answers.

"It's nearly dawn," Henry murmured, pulling his hand away and sitting up. "I'll stay in the guest room today. You can rest here as long as you need."

"Wait."

Mike wrapped his fingers around Henry's wrist, tugging him back down until he was stretched out on the bed next Mike again.

"Does this mean… are we… mated or bonded… or whatever?"

"What?" Henry blinked at him, something hopeful in his eyes before he quickly covered it. 

"Your story. About vampire soulmates. It sounded like the vampire that turns one of Persephone's kids gets to keep him."

Henry licked his lips and kept his face stoic and unreadable.

"Do you want to be kept?"

Mike turned that over in his mind. He'd known Henry less than a week. An intense, heart-pounding week.  After Vicki, he'd never thought he'd trust himself with anyone again. But Vicki had always kept him on edge, pushed and pulled him, made him do all the giving. 

With Henry, it had been all give and take. The vampire had trusted him first, with a deeply held secret of what he was. Then trusted Mike to work with him, help him. He'd lost track of how many times Henry had saved his life. 

Before he could answer, though, Henry stiffened into the creepy stillness that passed for sleep and Mike had a reprieve to figure out how to answer the question.

#

Henry woke up alone. 

Again.

It shouldn't bother him. It was how he'd woken up the majority of mornings for centuries. Yet, the two times he'd met the dawn with Mike by his side, he'd been disappointed not to find the man still in his bed when the sun set.

The sheets were cool to the touch and Henry pushed the blankets back in frustration, eager to get away from the scent of Mike still lingering on them. The last question he'd asked, still hovered over him, unanswered in the silent room.

A clatter from his kitchen had Henry on his feet and in the doorway before the last shards of the plate stopped spinning.

Mike stopped halfway crouched, hand reaching for the first piece of broken pottery.  

"I guess I didn't quite get my snack made before dusk, huh?" he asked with a tired smile and started picking up the bigger pieces.

Some of the strain and melancholy eased out of Henry and he bent to help. 

"Close. The sun's only been down a couple of minutes. It smells like something is well-done." He sniffed delicately, trying not to look too offended by the scent of burnt bread and scorched cheese.

"Oh. Damn it." Mike jumped to his feet, pulled the pan off the burner and shut off the stove before half-heartedly poking at the sandwich with a spatula. "Sorry. This is why I usually do take-out. I knew I should have just stopped by the pizza place on the way back here."

"No problem." Henry dumped the last of the broken plate into the garbage can and leaned back against the counter. "There are takeout menus in the second drawer, if you want to call for something."

"Nah, not really hungry.  Just figured I'd grab something while I waited for you to wake up." He glanced at the menu "I didn't realize you ate… real food I mean."

Henry shrugged. "I don't need it, but I eat when it's necessary to keep the fiction of humanity intact. Or just because blood is never a satisfactory substitute for caviar."

Mike settled against the counter next to Henry, perusing the menus and Henry studied him from the corner of his eye. Definitely a different suit from the bloodstained one they'd peeled off Mike before they settled him into bed. A small smile twitched against his lips. He liked the thought of Mike in bed. Any bed, really. But _his_ bed, that made his body thrum with all the possessive instincts of his kind.

"So, I assume you've been busy while I've been lazing away the day?" Henry asked, hoping to distract his wayward thoughts. Mike hadn't answered him last night. Hadn't come back to bed when he'd returned. He had, however, come back to Henry's apartment. That was something, at least.

"I've been tying up all the loose ends. Led Graham and Forensics to Bridewell's apartment. Coreen did what she said she would. It was all there. Weapons consistent with the injuries. Some kind of antique blood-letting machine. DNA of all the victims all over the evidence. But not a speck of mine, yours or hers. Tied the case up in a nice little bow, minus the actual suspect, of course. There's a warrant out for him, but, well, I'm pretty sure he's facing a much worse punishment than life in Kingston Penitentiary. The case is essentially closed."

"Good," Henry said, but his voice was flat. It really wasn't. If the case was over, so was the only reason he had to see Mike. The only reason Mike had to spend time with him. 

Mike was staring at him, now. Like he was trying to read what was going through Henry's mind. The unanswered question hung there, tension thickening the air between them as the silence stretched. 

Finally, Mike ducked his head and tucked his hands into his pockets.

"So, uh, you fell asleep, last night. Before… before I could answer your question." Mike took a deep breath and lifted his face, no longer hiding, though his expression was still inscrutable. "The thing is, we haven't even known each other a full week, yet. We haven't even kissed."

Henry closed his eyes and curled his hands painfully tight, trying hard not to show any of the dark, aching despair crawling through him. He couldn't believe he'd found the holy grail of his kind only to have it end before it ever began.

Then Mike's lips, soft and tentative, pressed against the corner of his mouth. He'd been so caught up in his own pain, he hadn't heard Mike move. His hands uncurled and settled on Mike's waist. Then he tilted his head, pressing back against the lips on his and opening slightly in invitation.

Mike groaned, and the sound vibrated all the way through Henry. Then Mike's hands dropped onto the counter, effectively caging Henry as he crowded closer, deepening the kiss until tongues twisted and tangled and fought for dominance. Henry's hands crept lower, slid down to cup that firm ass. 

The sound Mike made caught somewhere between a whine and a demand. He tore his mouth a way only to press it against Henry's neck while he panted in an attempt to catch his breath.

"Yeah, this works," Mike murmured, lips moving against sensitized skin. "This definitely works."

Henry tried to bite his tongue. Tried to tell himself to just enjoy the moment. The words slipped out before he could force them back down.

"What does it work _for_?"

"Huh?" Mike lifted his head, eyes glazed with lust and confusion.

Henry slid his hands back up to Mike's face and cradled it carefully, then took a deep breath to steady himself. 

"Does it work just for tonight? Or for forever?"

"Do we have to make that decision now?"

"No, of course not," Henry answered quickly, but it was like a bucket of cold water on him. He dropped his eyes but shifted his body closer, leaning in to enjoy whatever Mike was willing to give him.

Then large hands grasped his shoulders and held him back. 

"Hey, no. Not like that. That's not what I meant." Mike brushed his lips across Henry's ear and spoke softly. "I want more than just one night. But I've never been good at long term. And you haven't exactly had the opportunity. I just meant we should take it one day at a time. Hopefully, for a long, long time."

Henry tilted his head and let the soft, seeking lips latch on to _that_ spot, right behind his ear. Melted against Mike and let the worry drift away. Teeth scraped along his jaw, teasing him until he turned his head, claimed Mike's mouth and took control, sucking in the plump lower lip before pressing deeper into the kiss.

His hands tugged at Mike's crisp dress shirt, freeing it so he could slide his hands underneath and touch the warm skin and hard muscles the cloth had been hiding. 

Mike moaned against his mouth, pushing in closer until the counter behind Henry dug into his back, becoming one more note in the symphony of sensations cascading through him. Then Mike slid a knee between his legs, pressing in until Henry could feel him against every inch of his body and forgot everything but Mike.

He twisted and tugged and ripped until Mike's shirt was a memory, baring the wide perfect chest. Let his fingers drift gently over erect nipples, listening to the catch and gasp of Mike's breath with every fleeting touch. Unable to resist, Henry pulled away from the heated kiss and let his lips follow the teasing path his fingers had forged. When his tongue flicked out to taste one nipple then the other, Mike made a broken sound and his hands cupped Henry's ass, dragging him farther up until all of his weight was supported by Mike's strong thigh.

They rocked slowly against each other while hands roamed and lips explored wherever they could reach.

"God, Henry," Mike's lips had found that spot behind Henry's ear again and the sound of his name in that hoarse, needy voice made him want to melt against Mike. Wanted to melt into him. 

"Close, Henry. Need to, want to…"

Instead of finishing the thought, Mike released Henry, leaving him blinking, confused and cold. Until strong hands gripped his waist and Henry looked down at the Mike, on his knees, talented fingers tugging at Henry's pajama bottoms. Seconds later, the soft fabric pooled around his feet and Mike was pressing his hips back against the counter. 

Hot, fast breath drifted against Henry’s skin. Then Mike's tongue swiped up the underside of his erection, swirled around the head before he mouthed his way back down to the base. He sucked and tasted and teased and Henry fought to hold still, to hold on with his fingers twisted in soft hair. His fangs pressed against his lips and the world had a bright-edged light and he fought to keep his eyes open. He wanted to memorize every moment. 

And when Mike slid his lips around the head, looking up at Henry with that knowing, pleased look, he knew he'd never forget. For a second, there was no sucking, no teasing. He just held it there, lips stretched, eyes promising and a shiver of pleasure rolled through Henry.

Then Mike's tongue undulated against him. The heat around him tightened, stroked and Henry had to let his fangs sink into his own lip, let the pain remind him not to thrust.

Mike moaned around him, vibrated through him, and slid farther down, taking more. Giving more. Sensation, want, need, hope all twisted together in a lightning storm that electrified every inch of him.

"Mike, I'm, I…" 

Mike moaned again and went deeper, taking everything and Henry lost it. When the storm erupted, he came in a rush that left him limp and pleasure-soaked. Sagging against the counter, he blinked the sparks out of his eyes and smiled down at Mike. Still on his knees, he looked satisfied and yet still desperate, one hand pressed against the erection straining the fabric of his trousers.

When, he started to stroke, Henry growled. "Oh, no you don't. That's mine."

He dropped to the floor beside Mike, pushing the offending hand out of the way. Then he let his fingers slide along the waistband, slipping just the tips of his fingers under the fabric, allowing the back of his hands to brush against hot skin. Mike's eyes glazed, his skin flushed and his breath rushed fast and deep against Henry's cheek.

"Henry, for god's sake." It was a plea and a demand all wrapped up in one moan.

Henry popped the button of Mike's pants with a soft laugh and gently guided him to lay back, pressed him hard against the floor with a deep, promising kiss while tugging pants and boxers down to his knees and out of Henry’s way.

"Say please, detective." He couldn't help teasing, felt something deep and primal when Mike did as he was told.

"Please, Henry. Please." His voice rasped and caught on the words and Henry couldn't help himself. His lips were on Mike's erection, sucking softly at the leaking pre-come.

Several centuries of experience had some benefit. Henry opened his mouth, relaxed his throat and took all of Mike in a single, slow stroke. Holding Mike's hips down, he let the muscles relax and ease around the flesh. Then he swallowed once, slid his hands down to Mike's thighs and gave him a look full of promise.

Mike jerked uncertainly, but when Henry rode out the first couple of shallow strokes, he let himself go, wild and hot under Henry. The deep, hot sounds that poured out of Mike were enough to get Henry hard again, and when Mike finally let loose, Henry swallowed hard around the orgasm and felt his own body tip over into incandescent bliss once again, as well. 

Carefully easing back, Henry crawled up Mike until he could cradle his head against Mike's shoulder and wrap his arms around his waist.

"So, does it still work for you?"

Mike gave him a disbelieving stare, before kissing him hard. 

"If it worked any better, I'd be dead. But…"

"But?"

"Next time, can we see if it works in a bed?"  
  



	5. Chapter 5

_ Vernal Equinox _ __

Spring.

The turning of the season use to be a time of both joy and despair for her. But it had been several millennia since she was that sheltered, over-protected maiden. She'd long since tricked her mother and Hades into a new arrangement, one where she could come and go as she pleased.

Today, it pleased her to sit on a swing and watch how the park had burst back into colorful, vibrant life now that the cold blanket of winter had lifted.  She waited, watching the birds flitting in the trees and the squirrels scrambling from cache to cache, until the real reason for her vigil strolled around the curve of the walking path. The pair of men couldn't see her, of course. No one could, when she chose not to be noticed. 

They weren't touching as they walked side by side. But they flowed in and out of each other’s space so easily, it was obvious how comfortable they were together. 

Henry said something quiet, and Michael tipped his head back, laughing freely in a way she hadn't heard him let go since he was a child. Then he leaned down, brushed his lips across Henry's and the bond between them glowed like moonlight to her eyes.

In the six months since she'd last seen them, the first flush of romance had obviously grown into a strong, solid connection. For the first time since she'd discovered the demon so close to Michael, she relaxed, certain she'd done the right thing in bringing them together. 

It was no surprise when a cool, familiar hand slid onto her shoulder and squeezed. She turned her head to smile up at her husband. Next to him, Hecate's eyes were riveted on the passing couple. Eventually the scrutiny eased and the tight lines of her face shifted almost imperceptibly.

"They are happy. And safe," Hecate murmured. 

The faintest hint of thunder rumbled, despite the clear blue of the sky and she sighed. "They are. And we have no reason to linger, now."

In a blink, the park faded away into a shadow-filled temple and Persephone once again sat on her dark throne. 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Blood Ties banners for As Shadows Pass](https://archiveofourown.org/works/754503) by [delorita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delorita/pseuds/delorita)




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